Renaissance
by Black Casanova
Summary: Tonight would see the beginning of the rest of their lives. Sephiroth/Genesis. Yaoi. Lemon. Smut. Samurai-centric.


The fourth and final part to my samurai AU.  
Shame, ne?

Disclaimer- Nothing but the plot is mine.

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**Renaissance

In the two months Genesis had been gone the capital had not changed. As was to be expected. The painted women still reigned the district they were confined to and haunted the hearts of the men who walked freely. Truly, it was the women in his world that held all the power. They controlled the money that was deemed below the male class of samurai and were able to seduce and coerce a willing, ignorant man into anything.

That was a part Genesis enjoyed. Sephiroth seemed to have no trouble with his redhead toying with another, as long as he stayed his. Of course, such a position was quick to be reaffirmed with sharp teeth and nails, or the blade of a wakizashi placed teasingly close to his neck with a wicked smile.

Loosening the muscles of his neck with a fluid motion of rolling his head on his shoulders, Genesis let himself be reabsorbed by the city after so long in the countryside. Instead of the mountain breeze and smell of lush foliage his senses were besieged by smoke, spice and colour and the perfumes of the women around him, bowing humbly as he walked down the straight roads to the shogunate palace.

The roofs that overhung the nure'en of every shop and house now lacked the bright red and gold paper lanterns that had been decorating them over the matsuri of the New Year. Instead, the colour came from delicate pink blossoms of sakura wavering in the cool breeze. In gusts of wind the petals floated to the clear ground like snow.

Genesis had missed the capital, regardless of his captivity within it. Two months of freedom at home in the province of his birthplace with Angeal, able to go wherever he pleased whenever he pleased - so long as it was within reason. He had had a jump in his step that morning, thoroughly refreshed with who he was, always had been and always would be. The familiar touch of Angeal's hands – that treated him as a friend, and equal and a samurai – had brought everything back to him. Whilst the soft, tender handling Genesis endured had rekindled the fire that burned deep inside him, the one that no one but Sephiroth could quell.

When Genesis had entered the palace and requested an audience with the shogun himself – as the façade of lord and retainer required – only to be turned down, that eagerness deserted him. Instead, he had been ordered to his quarters to rest until the following morning when a full report of the journey and the stay and what had been discussed and discovered in that time would have to be given.

Helpless to press otherwise, the redhead had backed down and wandered up to his rooms. A bath first, he decided as he climbed the stairs, to wash away the journey and the blood of insolent peasants who failed to show the correct amount of respect when encountered.

In his time locked up in the porcelain shell of the fairer sex, he had forgotten neither how the world worked for the serving warrior class nor how to use his sword with devastating effect. It had surprised the samurai he travelled with to see this, as well as the speed and ruthlessness that he had been renowned – and feared – for in his days as a General. Yes, a bath first and then—

Sliding the shoji of his room aside, blue eyes met with nothing – not his clothes, belongings or even Sephiroth's gifts - but a small girl, no older than 15, staring timidly at him from her knees. She bowed lowly. Genesis frowned. He stepped inside, feet heavy upon the tatami. Everything was gone. Everything.

Immediately, a flare went up in Genesis' mind, screaming that what he had been dreading ever since he could remember had happened. In his absence, Sephiroth had taken another lover – a female – and abandoned him and his arrogance. He turned back, eyes as hard as the stone walls that made up the palace.

So this was the girl? The one so obviously more deserving of Sephiroth than himself? What did she have, with her slim, diminutive figure and delicate, pitiful hands, that he didn't? Humility, passiveness and subordinance were a few things he could note. They were a few things he had always assumed that Sephiroth had despised in a lover. Maybe he had failed in the judging of his Lord's character.

Genesis' mind sought to question the girl; interrogate her; break her mentally and then see how Sephiroth liked that. Instead, his temper smouldered dangerously behind his blue eyes. He watched as the girl slowly rose from her bow and glanced at him, smiling. Black eyes were as wide as a doe, trying to work that feminine magic that would never work on him. Not when he'd learnt to master it himself.

She was spiting him. His jaw tightened and he jumped at the girl, right hand drawing out his katana. Her response was fearful, quick but clear.

"Lord Sephiroth sent me to show you to your new rooms."

Immediately, Genesis desisted and stood motionless above the cowering girl. The sword slid comfortably back into its sheath with a sound of relief. Taking a pace back, he waited for the girl to rise to her feet and shuffle out of the door noiselessly. To the trained eye, there was no grace to her steps; her arms slung limply, head not held high enough. They were probably mistakes that came with her age – not being properly trained yet – and it comforted Genesis to see it. Sephiroth insisted upon perfection. Everything. He could never have put up with a creature like this.

-

He was left alone in his new rooms, ones that were twice the size of his old ones and adjoining to Sephiroth's own. Everything within, the tatami and futon, were brand new and spotless and soft under his tired feet. Folded up on the floor in the centre of the room was a new uniform, of a higher quality silk, lighter and softer for the coming summer in which the humidity would be unbearable. Atop it rested his two prized swords, gifts from his father when he first became a samurai, which he had not seen since long before Sephiroth became shogun. Their red lacquer had been meticulously polished until it shone a welcome in the light from small windows.

Slowly, Genesis stepped closer. The shoji slid shut with a whisper behind him. He knelt but did not take what was rightfully his. Instead, he stared at them in bewilderment. Why was Sephiroth giving them back to him? Why now?

Reaching out attentively, he handled the blades like one would a venomous serpent. Beneath them was a small note, resting atop the black silk of the new uniform, with a single character written on it. It brought a curve to Genesis' lips and he rose to his feet to change his clothes. Finally, he slid his precious swords into his sash and left the ones he had been using on a low table beside a wall that was piled high with his books.

"Cha?"

-

When in bloom, the garden could boast to be the most beautiful in the empire. Where the acers lacked in their foliage, still recovering from the takings of autumn, the sakura supplied. A mixture of species, from the vivid pink petals and red leaves on the trees brought down from the mountains to the smaller, lowland varieties that seemed to give more than they possessed on their branches.

Lost amongst a thicket of lush rhododendrons of green and violet, dotted with vibrant cerise, was where Genesis took himself. The black tiles of the roof of the chashitsu were evident against the spring blossoms. With one hand proudly resting on the hilt of the longer of his two swords, Genesis approached. It was hard to contain his smirk to a simple quirk at the corner of his mouth. If he knew Sephiroth like he believed he did, things would work out splendidly. Each step was light; there was no effort to disguise his zeal.

Sephiroth was seated on the nure'en, chin held high and eyes closed. He was deep in the thought of meditation. The longer strands of his decadent silver hair were pulled back, as always, and fastened at the nape of his neck with a strip of silk. A loose black robe covered all of his body, concealing the true shape of every curve and dip of muscle. Genesis knew each of them perfectly. He was the only one to know how much Sephiroth had changed from when he was simply an heir to the title of daimyo.

Green eyes opened slowly. Black pupils dilated to let in the sudden white light and a smile cracked across serene, slim features. His gaze raked languidly over Genesis, taking in the smooth lines of the kimono over his chest, to the seven organised pleats of the hakama and glimpses of white tabi as the wind blew the flimsy material around effortlessly.

Genesis bowed formally, lowly, and had Sephiroth return the gesture, only not as deeply. Next, he went to a small basin of clean water, taken from the stream that ran through the garden amongst a field of snowy chrysanthemums, and took the long-handled wooden ladle and rinsed first his hands and mouth then the soles of his zori. Such an act was not superficial – not just cleaning his skin – but deeply symbolic. Cleansing the mind, body and soul to be ready for the peace and tranquillity that waited within the chashitsu.

Sephiroth watched observantly; tracing droplets of water that tickled down pale wrists and into the shadows of Genesis' new kimono. The silk glistened with iridescence in the afternoon sun, making Genesis shine. The pink blossoms reflected in crimson hair; it was hard to avert his gaze even if he wanted to.

When the ritual cleansing was complete a hand was offered out to Genesis but lost in the long sleeves of the shogun's gown. Without a second thought, he stepped upon the veranda, leaving his zori on the river of white gravel that he had walked along to get to this secluded, ornate construction.

Instead of inviting the redhead to sit, Sephiroth stood and turned, grasping a hold of Genesis' wrist and drawing him into the main room of the chashitsu, then pulling the shoji back across the threshold. The windows of the side walls were open an inch or two at most to let fresh air circulate, but enough to dissuade any inquisitive eyes. Not that there were many now. After the first season, the staff of the household knew better than to interrupt the shogun, no matter where he was, when there was a redhead with him – male or female.

However, it had inevitably circulated after one incident that the two were quite actually one and the same. Once this was public news, grabbing hands, eager to possess, had begun to lunge for Genesis again, especially when painted and adorned, which had led to Sephiroth sending him back to their home province until things had died down. Or for those grabbing hands to depart the world of the living until they were reborn again in another place, far away.

Placed in the very middle of the room was a dark wood table, low to the floor and fully equipped for the making of tea. Sephiroth took up his position on the opposite side of this table to Genesis. They sank to their knees and sat cross-legged, staring at each other for a moment.

Perhaps it was strange, for lovers to meet again after so long apart and not say a word of greeting. But all Sephiroth needed radiated from the deep azure of Genesis' eyes. Genesis, however, just flourished in the attention he received. He was the only one who obtained it, after all. He was the only one that ever would.

Sharply, Sephiroth inhaled and raised his hands to the table. The small kettle of water upon the brazier was beginning to boil. "I know marriage was the exact word you used." His voice was deep, unaffected; indifferent. "Obviously such a thing can never occur now, with even the peasants of this town knowing of you." This was uttered disdainfully. The emotion echoed in deceptively stolid eyes. "With this, we can bind ourselves together. Simple, private and perpetual. Nothing can be done to undo what shall happen here. Do you consent?"

"Of course," Genesis blurted without second thought. His grip tightened with anticipation at Sephiroth's smile, wide and ravenous. Blue eyes watched appreciatively as the shogun began to busy himself with making the tea.

First the powder was measured out precisely with a carved stick of bamboo that Sephiroth's long fingers wound tightly around. His right hand held the deep sleeves of his gown out of the way. Next, a little water was added to create a sage-green paste. Then more water and it was whisked until smooth with another tool crafted from bamboo.

The process was as practical as it was symbolic: every movement and motion had significant meaning and took an immeasurable amount of skill to perfect. As he watched, Genesis could see just why Sephiroth always watched with ravenous interest as he performed the acts commonly associated with the decorated, expensive hostess of the district teahouses. Only a master could achieve the smooth, delicious tea that the empire thrived on.

In time, a small cup without a handle was offered to Genesis. A wide beam upon his face, he bowed again and accepted it. His first few sips were anxious, testing the temperature of the liquid and still busy watching Sephiroth make his own cup. Though the same as every other cup he had drunk since childhood, this tasted better; calmed his mind more; helped him reach that perfect level of elation.

Raising his eyes, Sephiroth seemed to detect this and smiled one of the rare smiles that only a few could claim to have seen in their lives. He watched as Genesis' eyes flickered like the flame of a candle down to the half-empty cup and up to his face. Deep in thought, weighing up the positive and negative consequences of whatever he was planning. And trying to estimate what the response would be. Another quirk of the full lips he longed to kiss; Genesis' arm extended towards him.

Genesis knew that when it came to sake, sharing a cup was a sign of friendship, trust and affection. He noticed that his hand was shaking from a nervousness that was unnecessary. Sephiroth would not refuse him, not when he had initiated the ceremony, hosted it and decided to fulfil Genesis' request of binding.

When with his childhood friend, the redhead had spoken of his wishes; his frustration and longing. For so long he had had to put his own aspirations behind himself to accommodate that which Sephiroth impressed upon him, just so he would not lose the object he was so dangerously fixated on. But now, with the quarters of a trusted retainer next to the shogun and his two priceless swords, it seemed Sephiroth had realised that Genesis also had his own desires that smouldered deep within him and had for years gone unseen.

The shogun rose to his feet, long hair streaming behind him elegantly, ethereal. Smirking. He paced over to where Genesis sat and lowered himself to his knees behind the redhead's back. They were close, close enough for each of the man's breaths to waver Genesis' crimson hair and cause it to tickle irritably at the back of his neck. Due to his position, the collar of Genesis' kimono distorted to reveal more of his neck; the ridges of his spine cast delicate shadows across the flawless skin. Sephiroth stared, lips curving further as he bridged the gap and pressed a gentle kiss to that exposed flesh.

Genesis' response, either intentional or instinctive, was physical. He sighed, resting his head back on Sephiroth's shoulder, smiling. Amused, Sephiroth reached forwards to Genesis' hand, brought the offered cup up to his lips and drank with a thirst that far surpassed anything that tea or sake could ever sate. Sometimes he wondered if Genesis was enough to quench it, as after every encounter, even with just a brush of hands as they passed in a corridor, the craving possessed him again.

The cup was finished with another taking from Genesis' lips and lowered back to the low table to rest discarded with all the dirtied utensils. His eyes were closed and he was grinning, wet lips glistening in the light that filtered through the shoji. He lay back, moving to every inhalation of the shogun, loving the silent intimacy that they shared. Moments, little moments, like feeling Sephiroth's heartbeat against his shoulder blade; noticing how it quickened when he sounded his approval to the ministrations lavishing his neck made all the trials and tribulations he faced meaningful.

"I want this to be like it was _in the beginning_." Sephiroth's hands ghosted across his chest, pressing him back and closer until the force had Genesis gasping. His voice was a quiet murmur, like it was on their first night as lovers, as he loomed over Genesis commenting on his… virtues. "You're a samurai. My general. My retainer."

To prove this point, Sephiroth's hand ran the length of the hilt of Genesis' katana. Both their eyes were drawn to the motions; in the shadows there was only the contrast of pallid skin and the dark material of Sephiroth's sleeves and the altering red and black pattern of the sword. A thumb rubbed tight circles over the very tip, sending a shiver straight down Genesis' spine. He pressed his hips forwards, bringing the sword further into Sephiroth's grasp.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Genesis inquired, smirking; enjoying the one-handed show that was working wonders for his subconscious. The heat between his legs was growing uncomfortable and as much as he tried, Sephiroth would not relieve him.

Sephiroth's lips tightened and he lowered his head back down to the other's ear, where red hair hung in a perfectly ordered array of disorder. "I've broken you in. You're completely mine. Undeniably _mine,_" he whispered.

"So dressing me and treating me and making me act like a woman was simply to tame me? To acclimatise myself to submitting to you without a second thought?" Genesis asked, curious and slightly irritated. He had served Sephiroth's father, and indeed Sephiroth himself, loyally all his life. But still the silver haired man deemed him unruly; in need of domestication before anything else other than a weapon was to be made of him.

"I could never expect you to understand my motives."

Genesis blinked slowly, eyelids drifting closed as Sephiroth's cool hand finally turned attention onto him. It clasped around his member, concealed behind the silk hakama, and squeezed rhythmically until the material became damp with his fluids. He lay heavily back in Sephiroth's embrace, bucking his hips up into the warmth of that palm.

Smirking, Sephiroth grasped harder and shuffled back, bringing the mewling redhead with him. His other hand immediately went to stripping Genesis out of his uniform. The daisho was removed first, placed tenderly to the side in a slim shaft of golden light from the setting sun the other side of the flimsy walls.

Then the plain sash was shed, the motion drawn out as Sephiroth moved around to the left to lie Genesis back on the tatami. His expression was washed of his characteristic haughtiness, leaving nothing but a sheen of elation to each of the shogun's touches.

Clever hands continued their work, sliding hakama effortlessly off raised, slim hips. Genesis bit his lip as the soft silk brushed over him, and then he was surrounded by cool air that relieved little of his affliction. His kimono was smoothed open across his chest and left to hang around his shoulders, incapacitating him somewhat. But Sephiroth thrived on this factor; a forced submission.

The lack of thick, cushioning futons underneath him, offering a comfort much greater than that of the tatami, reminded Genesis of the rough intercourse he welcomed during stifling nights on the battlefield. When light from campfires threw their shadows against the woven tent walls for any on looking eye to see, but they were always too absorbed in each other's obsessions to care.

Genesis looked up through hazy vision, seeing Sephiroth a decade younger, when the stress of leadership he succeeded in hiding in the company of others was non-existent across his features. Young, fresh and entrancing, Genesis had let him sink almost too deep into his being.

Reaching up, Genesis cupped a hand over Sephiroth's slim jaw line and led him down for a thorough kiss. As he hadn't for so long, the redhead indulged himself and made Sephiroth fight for the right to pillage his mouth with his vigour and eagerness. His hands were pinned either side of his head at the wrists. Fingers curled in delight and Genesis smirked, succumbing to a defeat he didn't really mind. For once.

And then Sephiroth was pulling away, taking Genesis' bottom lip with him until the redhead whined with the discomfort. He freed his left hand but the right remained on a slim, golden wrist. Blue eyes stared up, wide but smirking, as if two kami had possessed him. One innocent, vulnerable and tender; the other sordid, dark and lusting. And slowly, after losing his robes, Sephiroth tightened his grip and pushing his hips into Genesis', eyes darkened and the latter kami was victorious.

Genesis ground his hips upwards, into Sephiroth's cupped palm as it fell into place around his member. The shogun rewarded him with a few firm pumps before withdrawing completely, reaching out under the low table a few feet away and pulling out a lacquered pot, small, round and black.

As it was obviously deemed much more important than his own pleasure, Genesis tilted his head to see, and beamed widely. "My Lord, I seem to be unable to recall any oil _in the beginning_."

"You bled that night. To do so tonight will only ruin the tatami," Sephiroth replied brusquely as he twisted the lid to pull it off. He crawled back over Genesis, covering his body like the night's sky does the sleeping Earth. "Unless you wish to give more of yourself to me." He leant over Genesis, breathing calmly into his ear.

The redhead's lips tightened, nothing more than a bitter sneer, exposing a glimpse of a white canine. "Is there anything left to give?"

"There's always something remaining." Sephiroth thrust his hips up against those under him. The friction of such an action ran straight from Genesis' cock to his brain and had him momentarily breathless. But that audacious expression remained.

"Not tonight, my love." His hands rose to attentively stroke the shorter locks of Sephiroth's hair out of his face; then running down the stark curves of his shoulders to be lost in the moonlight silk completely. "For this is a time for love, devotion and dedication."

There was a slight uplifting of the corners of Sephiroth's mouth, barely noticeable before it vanished without a trace. Its very transitory existence could be questioned with the speed. Without a further word, Genesis took the opened pot from his lover's hand and dipped two fingers in. They came out generously covered in sweet smelling oil, dark and iridescent in the feeble; weakening sunlight. Immediately he took Sephiroth's cock into his hand. The reaction was divine.

The muscles of his strong stomach tensed, defining every valley and ridge of strength in the soft shadows. It was like a recoil – as if the touch was unexpected or painful – but the shogun's throaty purrs and steady, sinuous sliding of the hard heat of his manhood in Genesis' elegant hand testified otherwise. In the boneless state of euphoria, having not felt as such in the months Genesis had been away, Sephiroth was easy to be pushed onto his back. Silver hair splayed out on the sage-green tatami beneath them, glistening ethereally in the light.

Searching blindly, Sephiroth found the discarded pot, lubricating his fingers quickly, sparsely - enough for comfort but not overly so. Those fingers travelled immediately behind the bend of Genesis' hips and over the firm curves of his buttocks and trailed down to his only target. In this action, it was Genesis' turn to vocalise his approval, demonstrating such through his entrancing mastery of his own lithe body.

Sephiroth had often wondered just how and when Genesis had learnt all about himself, what he could and could not do and how to exaggerate or conceal either one. Did he spend the hours that he was not training as a child, exploring himself in the privacy of four opaque walls? His own fingers searching; gaining a reaction; learning the mechanics of his own instincts… Sephiroth lowered his head to Genesis' lips and consumed his own fantasy through them. The redhead was so willing, without boundaries, to do anything, his estimation was not a likely delusion.

And Genesis was the first to break for air, moaning as Sephiroth's fingers pressed inside him. He waited for a moment before shifting his hips to find his prostate. The shogun continued to lie still; eyes regarded everything from azure shielded behind cinnamon lashes, the smooth, hairless chest to the darker hairs that brushed against the back of his cock.

"I seem to remember you being far from passive," Genesis murmured against Sephiroth's lips. Every word was punctuated with a deep breath and wavering exhalation. On the contrary to his utterance, his hips kept to the pace.

Smirking, Sephiroth drove his wrist upwards, earning a strident moan from parted, plump lips. Letting his desire devour him, he pushed Genesis onto his back once again. He continued preparation until Genesis couldn't take anymore; he was reduced to a mewling, writhing creature on the brink of release but frustratingly denied. So Sephiroth stopped hastily. After all, everything he had ever done was for Genesis' benefit, whether the man noticed so or not through his glazed eyes of arrogance and decadence, and malice.

-

The moon spun its delicate silver threads around the garden. Lush green leaves reflected the stars and threw their shadows against the mirror surface of the pool that the stream led to before running on to the city's river and then out to the great sea. The world outside of paradise was vast; indomitable no matter how much men deluded themselves into believing otherwise.

As a single, delicate white petal drifted in the gentle breeze to the water, echoing its tranquil beauty around, distorting shapes and the reflection of the moon fleetingly. The aesthetics of reality became transcendental.

… If only there were eyes to observe. The heavens were deeper, darker and much harder to reach when seen in Genesis' eyes. He smiled temptation; a promise of fulfilment, already fulfilled. Sephiroth would kiss him, accept his offer, when he had caught his breath and collected his thoughts from the admiration of the sharp-featured elegance of Genesis as he stared up at the sky. Skin pale, cheeks flushed and lips moist and red, he was a pleasant contrast to the dark material that clothed Sephiroth's lap. Out on the nure'en, the wind was welcome, calming pleasure-scorched flesh.

Sighing, the shogun threaded his fingers through tousled red hair and flexed gently, silently gaining the man's attention. "I only have one request of you, Genesis," Sephiroth started. His eyes scanned pin-pricked azure, fearing the insecurity that possessed him. "That you love me."

Genesis' lips curved upwards warmly; his eyes softened and he pushed himself up to wrap his arms tightly around Sephiroth's neck. "I do, my love. I do."


End file.
